


suns in retrograde;

by voidlightCalliope



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Akuma Possession, Character Death In Dream, Developing Friendships, Dreams and Nightmares, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Heroism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Magic, Mental Disintegration, Multi, Mythology References, Poetry, Teenage Drama, Underage Smoking, Unrequited Love, literal soul searching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-13 13:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18469699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidlightCalliope/pseuds/voidlightCalliope
Summary: Adrien Agreste, sometimes known as Chat Noir isnotdead. Marinette refuses to believe it. She'll travel into the deepest reaches of his soul to wake him up.But how much will it cost Marinette and those around her to save their sleeping prince? It's a battle between heart, mind and body...In which, a Ladybug sews dreams into reality and a Black Cat is shattered into stardust





	1. alea iacta est;

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [a thousand years](https://archiveofourown.org/works/447686) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Another miraculous fanfic, because you guys seemed to like the last one. This one is going to be way longer and way more detailed...so I hope you're ready!
> 
> Very loosely based off the amazingly fantastic Homestuck fanfic, _a thousand years _, which is one of my favorite fanfics of all time. If you even have heard of Homestuck, you should read it. It's just that good.__
> 
> In this story, Marinette and the rest of the kids are all seventeen for non-nsfw plot purposes. It's also heavily implied that Alya, Chloe and Nino have kept their miraculous permanently.
> 
> So, without further ado, I hope you enjoy this story...

_“But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?  
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”_

____

__

Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare

✭⚜✭

 

Marinette watched as the Sun made way for the moon of dusk and she felt her soul exhale with grief.

In Master Fu’s living room, where she sat, jasmine petal colored smoke drifted across the lonely expanse of the house. The sticks of incense that had created the smoke were dying now, left to simmer and sunder their tiny embers and ash onto a ceramic holder.

I have only seen it once - only _once! _” Master Fu said, his voice weary, “A young girl fell to the plague of the akumas. She fell into a coma just as he did.”__

____

____

“Did she live?” Marinette asked, hands trembling, white smoke passing by her already pale face. She looked ghastly, worn, her figure gaunt with worry, “She was okay, wasn’t she?”

“It was so long ago, Marinette,” Master Fu said, but the tremor of his lip as he spoke said everything, “These are things that an old man like me wishes to forget.”

“You’re not allowed to forget,” Marinette snapped, “You have to save him. You _have _to -”__

____

____

Master Fu hung his head, “He is past saving.”

“You don’t know that!” Marinette yelled, blue eyes glistening with silver tears, each drop wobbling like dew on a percacious leaf, threatening to fall, “If you won’t save him - I will-”

“He isn’t going to be saved. You have to learn to let go…”

“Watch me,” Marinette said, standing up with a quick jaunt, “I’ll save him.”

Marinette strode out the door, leaving trails of smoke behind her and Master Fu shook his head.

“She’ll learn,” He told Wayzz somberly, “She’ll learn.”

✭⚜✭

It had been seven weeks since Adrien Agreste had fallen asleep.

Seven hellish weeks, that had been filled with tears and sleepless nights ( _how ironic, _Marinette thought, _that I can’t sleep when that’s all he can do. _)____

_____ _

_____ _

Seven weeks that Gabriel Agreste’s had been dragged through the media like a metaphorical pariah, his name scorned and spat on by everyone who’d even heard of Hawkmoth.

(Marinette almost felt sorry for the man. _Almost. _)__

____

____

But Mr. Agreste’s apologies mean nothing. Adrien was still gone. And nothing he said could change the fact that he was to blame.

Seven weeks of pain, of sobbing and torment. Pure torture and agony each waking second. Marinette felt like a dead girl walking, a corpse forced to eat and breathe and weep.

It had been seven weeks since Chat Noir had fallen like the star he was, and left a meteor shaped space in Marinette’s heart.

✭⚜✭

The doctors said it was a coma, that when Adrien had (no - _Chat Noir _), sacrificed himself to stop Hawkmoth, he’d pushed himself too far. And that was the reason he was lying pale as a sheet of paper in a gaudy hospital bed.__

____

____

But Marinette, she knew the truth. So did Master Fu, Mr. Agreste, Alya, Nino and Chloe. When Hawkmoth had torn all of the akumas he’d tried to force into Chat’s heart right back out, something had went _snap- ___

____

____

And Chat fell into a sleep so deep that Nino told him _bro, you’re our own Sleeping Beauty _between tears.__

____

____

✭⚜✭

 

“Good morning, Adrien,” Marinette said, looking down at her friend with dry, red eyes, “I brought you some flowers,” she sat down the lively sunflowers into the well-watered vase by his hospital bed, removing the old wilting irises, “Your father said sunflowers are your favorite.” 

Marinette let out a wounded, short breath and sat delicately on the rubbery white chair next to his bed. She weasled her hand across the linen sheets and gently laid her hand across his, soaking in the reminder that he was still alive.

“They remind me of you,” Marinette admitted, “Bright and happy.”

Adrien’s skin was cool, like marble, the veins of his limp hand green-brown and bulbous with stress despite his peaceful, silver lidded eyes and smooth, almost smiling mouth.

“It makes sense, that you would like them,” Marinette added.

Adrien did not respond, but the faintest shimmer of sunlight cast down through the window in his room and turned his hair into golden swathes of fire. Marinette swallowed hard and let her cold, bitter saltwater tears fall down to his frozen flesh.

✭⚜✭

_“you’re my sun, my lady, my ladybug,” Chat said, smiling like a punch-drunk fool, already laughing in ernest, a couple nights before the incident, “my life, my laughter, my love-” ___

____

____

_Ladybug had giggled, watching her partner joke and waltz around, her eyes warm with affection. ___

____

____

_She’d said: stop it, silly kitty. ___

____

____

_She’d thought: he doesn’t really mean it. ___

____

____

_Now, Marinette realized, tears starting to stop as she watched a machine breathe for Adrien, his blonde hair pale as spoiled milk and skin white as snow, she’d give anything to hear him say it again. (She’d give anything to have him mean it again.) ___

____

____

✭⚜✭

“Each miraculous represents something _vital _to the core of humanity,” Master Fu explained, “The ladybug and the black cat represent creation and destruction. Life and Death. Black and White. The butterfly is emotion - all emotion - good and bad. The bee is representative of our relationships, platonic and romantic. The fox is heart...the peacock the soul, the turtle our body.”__

____

____

“Why does that matter?” Marinette said.

“It matters _most, _” Master Fu explained, “Look inside yourself, Marinette. You know the answer.”__

____

____

“Maybe I’m sick of looking inside myself,” Marinette said, clutching her cup of tea tightly, hands red from the hot steam that poured from the rim, “Maybe I’m sick of sitting and waiting and watching him get _worse! _Maybe I’m sick of being everyone’s hero-”__

____

____

“Then you shouldn’t have taken on the mantle.”

“ _You _chose _me, _” Marinette said weakly, all the fight leaving her, like water from a sponge being squished dry... _drip, drip, drip, _went her willpower, down to the floor, “You shoved that mantle into my hands.”______

_____ _

_____ _

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have been so perfect of a candidate for me to choose,” Master Fu mulled, eyes narrowed, “Maybe you should’ve lived your life with your teeth gnashing and a head full of nonsense! Maybe you should’ve taken those earrings and thrown them as far as you could out of your sight-” he stuttered for breath, chest heaving, “Maybe you should still do that - run away and be happy-”

“Is that what you really want?” Marinette interrupted softly.

Master Fu just shook his head, “What do _you _want, Marinette?”__

____

____

“I don’t know.”

It was the truth.

✭⚜✭

“It’s time to go,” Marinette’s mother chimed from the doorway. 

Marinette let her hand drift away from the top of Adrien’s and ever-so-carefully, out of her mother’s sight, slipped his ring off his finger. The metal was ice cold, burning like frostbite against Marinette’s hand as she closed it tight around the ring.

“Okay,” Marinette said, skin aching as the metal froze her blood into snowflakes, “We’ll come back tomorrow, right?”

“Yes,” Marinette’s mother said, her face sallow, eyes downcast as Marinette walked to her, “Yes, of course, honey.”

“And the day after that too,” Marinette added, “This whole week.”

“Of course, of course.”

“But not next week,” Marinette said, stopping before the door.

“And why not?” Marinette’s mother asked, arms already out to cradle her mourning daughter in a embrace.

“Because by then, I’ll save him,” Marinette’s mother let out a painful squeak of pity, sweeping up her daughter in a crushing hug.

“Yes, of course you will, you will-”

“Goodbye, _minou, _” Marinette said, muffled against her mother’s shoulder, cheeks still dew-damp with tears, “I’ll see you soon.”__

____

____

✭⚜✭

“It has been a long time,” Master Fu said, fingers meeting at his beard to stroke the long grey strands, “since I have seen so many heroes in one room.” he smiled sadly at the teens, “It was the right choice to let you all keep your miraculouses. You’ve used them well-”

“Cut the bull,” Chloe said, “the spell, will it work or not?”

“That depends on your own hearts,” Master Fu said, peeling off his bracelet to hand to a jittery Nino, who took the bracelet with trembling fingers and bated breath, slipping it on with care, “I will leave you to your fruitless endeavor.”

“Old _hag, _” Chloe sneered as Master Fu bent out of the room.__

____

____

“Bro, hags are women,” Nino chipped in. Nobody graced it with a response and Nino fell into the lull of painful silence with the rest of them, before mumbling, “I thought it was funny.”

“You always do,” Chloe said, eyes shining with anger, “Don’t you get it? This isn’t a joke, you _idiot- _” Nino bristled, “What? It’s true, you can’t even-”__

____

____

“Stop it,” Alya snapped, “Just…” Chloe and Nino slumped down, “Just shut up. I can’t stand you two arguing right now.”

“He shouldn’t be so easy to argue with, then,” Chloe said under her breath. Alya glared, but didn’t say anything back. Chloe huffed to herself.

“I think we should start,” Marinette said.

“Sure, okay,” Nino babbled, eyes not meeting hers, “Well, how should we get the show on the road?”

“The book said that we lay our miraculouses out in a circle,” Marinette said, already taking off her earrings, “and the kwamis will know the rest.”

Chloe pulled out her hair comb, sitting down on the floor next to Nino, as he laid the bracelet down. Alya cast a worried look over at Marinette, and sat next to her, lying down her fox necklace with apprehension.

Marinette laid down her earrings, then took two miraculous boxes down from Master Fu’s open box, cracking open the butterfly box open first, studying the pin silently.

“We don’t have to do this-” Alya said.

Marinette took the pin and laid it down too. She took the other box, the peacock and placed the brooch next to the butterfly. 

“ _Marinette, _” Alya laid a soft hand on her friend’s shoulder.__

____

____

“All that’s left,” Marinette explained, shrugging off Alya’s hand, “is this.”

She pulled out Adrien’s ring, settling it next to her own miraculous. 

“Where did you get that?” Chloe gasped, “I thought it was gone.”

“He had it on the whole time,” Marinette answered, “I’ll return it to him when he’s okay.”

Chloe’s face melted into soft pity, but she didn’t say anything, turning away.

It was during that stiflingly pregnant pause that the the kwamis felt it was time to reveal themselves. Tikki was first, then Wayzz and Nooroo, Dusuu following with Pollen, Trixx coming last. But something, someone was missing-

“Plagg,” Marinette asked Tikki, the red kwami holding her head down, “Where is he?”

“He’s...Marinette, you have to understand how badly this hurts him,” Tikki pleaded, “I know you are all hurting too, but this isn’t going to-”

“Please,” Marinette said, Nino, Chloe and Alya all exchanging somber looks at Marinette's desperate tone, “Tell him to come out.”

“I will - but, please, be gentle with him,” Tikki whispered, “He thinks it was his fault.”

“Maybe it was,” Marinette said harshly. Tikki winced, “I don’t care. I’m not here to point fingers.” she paused, “Call him. Please.”

Tikki whispered something and _whoosh, _in a plume of green-black smoke, Plagg leaped out of the void to swan dive into existence.__

____

____

“What’s the big idea, kid?” Plagg spat, floating into Marinette’s face, green eyes wild.

Marinette pushed Plagg back gently, “Get out of my face.”

“I’ll do what I want!” Plagg bared his teeth, black magic (pure _cataclysm _) bubbling around his form, blurring and abstracting it, turning the small kwami into a terrifying caricature of chaos, “Why did you make her summon me?” Plagg jerked around to face Tikki, “Why did you listen to her?”__

____

____

Tikki flinched, “Plagg, just listen to her-”

“Why should I?” Plagg yowled.

“Because I need your help,” Marinette said and unfurled her clenched hand, Adrien’s ring lying there as if a small, frozen seed in the embrace of a gentle, pale flower.

Plagg twitched, “Do you really think anything you do will save him? He’s gone.” he malformed his face into a anguished smile, “He’s a piece of swiss cheese with so many holes you could strain boulders through him!”

“I’ll never know if I don’t try,” Marinette said.

“Say that all you want, be stupid and squishy and human, _I don’t care- _” Plagg hissed, “But keep me out of it.”__

____

____

“You miss him,” Marinette begged, “I know you do.” Plagg fell quiet, closing his eyes, “Please, let me do this for him. Let me do this for us. Just help us.”

“I don’t see the point,” Plagg griped, opening his eyes, “in doing more stupid stuff to solve something stupid.”

“Plagg, you always do stupid things,” Tikki informed lightly, drifting over to her friend, “Why not do something stupid now?”

“Because I like being stupid on my own terms,” Plagg groaned and moaned, “I’ll do it.” his eyes flashed, “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to enjoy it.”

“Trust me,” Marinette said, “Neither are we.”

Plagg didn’t have anything to say to that. He floated over to his ring (Adrien’s ring, Chat’s ring, a hundred other black cats’ ring - it wasn’t exactly singular in it’s sacredness.) and waited there, not looking at any of the other kwamis.

The kwamis began to hum, Tikki leading the song, Plagg recently adding his own voice.

It was quiet, at first, a faint melodic tune, then rose louder and louder. The miraculouses laid out on the floor in the circle, starting to glow. 

The glow grew, so did the volume of the song, none of the words making any sense. (if you could even call them words, more like letters tossed into a fruit salad of syllables and sounds-)

Just as soon as the song had started, it faded into silence. Nobody moved. 

“Take them,” Tikki said to Marinette, nodding at the ladybug earrings, “It’s all you, now.”

Marinette reached out and touched her earrings and-

✭⚜✭

 

_An explosion rippled across reality. ___

____

____

_One made of sound, and light, fire and ice, chaos rippling out like the waves in a pond broken by movement- ___

____

____

_Marinette was upside down and nowhere at all, her lungs filled with too much air- ___

____

____

_Someone was calling her name, screaming it, echoes cascading- ___

____

____

_A swarm of ladybugs twinkled through the Veil, of mist and void, red carapace showing her the way, they beckoned her. ___

____

____

_Saying, “Come along, our little hero,” they shook their little wax paper wings, “we’ll show you the way.” ___

____

____

_Marinette reached out, her heart beating out of her chest. ___

____

____

_The sky and the sun melted together and made a lovely painting, red and yellow splattered onto jade clouds, the wind blustering through her bones and chilling her blood- ___

____

____

_And touched the gentle wings with a careful hand- ___

____

____

_Outside, the world was a tornado of emotion, arias of golden light sparkling down to meet Marinette’s soul- ___

____

____

_And the ladybugs said, “Good, good, now, hold your breath-” ___

____

____

_Marinette felt the world, shimmy, dip, shake, break- ___

____

____

_“And be careful-” ___

____

____

_Rain seemed to pour down her spine, freezing her blood into chips of water and ice. She screamed, but the noise never left her mouth, her dry, dumb mouth- ___

____

____

_“Because we won’t be here to welcome you home.” ___

____

____

✭⚜✭

Marinette hit the floor with a loud _thud, _her brain spinning with questions.__

____

____

Pain ached through her stomach and arms, but faded quickly as she heaved for breath. The spell had worked - hadn’t it - but-

“Master Fu?” Marinette asked, her voice weak.

She was still collapsed, but she was on _soft, grassy ground, _not floor. She wasn’t in Master Fu’s house - _but, then, where was she? _____

_____ _

_____ _

Her eyes still burned, smearing color and shapes into fat, thick blobs, “Is anyone there? Tikki? Alya? Nino!” she stood up, her vision blurry, everything seeming as if it was underwater, “Chloe, Plagg, _somebody! _”__

____

____

Marinette shook her head wildly, her eyes adjusting to the sudden change in environment. Colors began to solidify and shapes formed into geometric irregularities. 

Marinette breathed in deep, _one, two, three, four and out… ___

____

____

“Relax,” She commanded herself. Breath trickled out, then in, then she counted again: _Five, six, seven, eight and out... ___

____

____

She felt her heart settle. She raised up from the ground and looked around.

She was outside. A garden grove greeted her, trees thick with swathes golden-green leaves like painted baubles of Eden waving in the balmy breeze. Flowers blossomed softly underneath a blanket of richly watered grass, each one boasting brightly colored petals. Ladybugs and butterflies danced into the sunshine sky, their wings as shimmering and bright as gemstones.

If Marinette had been asked to name where she was, she would’ve simply said: _Summer. ___

____

____

It wasn’t any garden she’d ever seen before. Marinette breathed deep again and stepped forward, calling out, “Hello? Is anyone here?”

The soft rustle of the wind through the trees answered her, loud and clear, without words: _Nobody is here. ___

____

____

Marinette felt her heart clench again with panic, but willed it down with a hard swallow, “Think - what’s going on?”

_You’re a smart cookie, _Chloe had said, when Marinette had suggested the spell as a means to save Adrien, _I’m sure it will work. _____

_____ _

_____ _

_I’m smart, a smarty pants, smart cookie, _Marinette weakly joked to herself, _Come on, you can do this. _____

_____ _

_____ _

She began to walk, her knees weak and stomach queasy. The garden was desolate, in a odd sort of way. Sure, it was filled with Life, bushes and briars, trees and fruit, ferns and flowers, butterflies and ladybugs but something seemed empty about it.

Marinette steeled her will and stepped into the unknown.

✭⚜✭

“The spell works like this,” Master Fu explained, Marinette crossed legged on a floor cushion, china cup held careful in her hands, “Imagine that Adrien - is a vessel.”

Marinette imagined it, eyes closed tight, Tikki hovering next to her in support. She thought of Adrien, weak and sallow in his hospital bed, and found that she could easily imagine him as an empty cup, a goblet dry of wine.

“He’s soaked up the world around him, like all of us,” Master Fu gestured out wildly, hands bronzed and worn for many years of living, “And all those ideas - those hopes and wishes - they’ve melted into him and cooled at his core. All those dreams make him up just as much as his body does.”

Marinette felt herself shiver with anxiety, banshing the thought of the empty vessel Adrien away with a shake of her head, “Please, just explain what I have to do-’

“Patience,” Master Fu said, “An akuma takes those virtues and thoughts, dreams and wishes and _molds _them like fine clay into a new shape. The akuma takes the strongest emotion the person feels a When someone is akumatized, they are still the same clay, same person-”__

____

____

“But a different shape,” Tikki finished.

Master Fu nodded, “When an akuma leaves, it takes a lot out of a person. They are having a piece of their soul mutilated against their will. It takes time for them to heal. When Hawkmoth drove all his akumas into Adrien’s body, he attacked not just his son’s body, but his soul as well.”

Pity for Mr. Agreste leaked out of Marinette, Master Fu’s words like gasoline, sending the last few embers of rage she had into an inferno, “So, he _knew _what it would do?”__

____

____

“No. Save your anger,” Master Fu said, setting down his cup of tea and sighing before starting again, “He was not aware of how his akumas fully worked. And he was not aware that Chat Noir was his own son.”

“Like that makes it better,” Marinette argued, “he was willing to do it to innocent people.”

“He did _not _know,” Master Fu retorted sternly, “I will not cast hate on that man. Those in glass houses should not throw stones-” he groaned, “We are getting away from our topic.”__

____

____

Marinette shut her mouth tightly into a line. Tikki settled on her shoulder.

“Anyways-” Master Fu said wearily, “When he tore out all his akumas from Adrien, they left his soul in tatters. Ripped to shreds. His soul is trying to heal - that is why his body is so weak - why he is in a coma. Everything in him is going to his soul. But I do not think it will be enough.”

“So, tell me what to do!” 

“There’s nothing-”

“There’s always something,” Marinette said, setting down her tea with flushed cheeks and a beating heart, “How can I call myself a hero if I can’t even save someone so close to me? He-” she gulped, voice shaking as spoke back up, “He - gave everything to save Paris - to stop Hawkmoth. Please, just let me help me.”

“Nothing can save a soul-”

“Let me be a hero,” Marinette said.

Master Fu let out a low, morbid whistle. Marinette watched as he picked up his tea cup, strode into the kitchen and refilled it. She watched as he sat back down, took a small sip and let out a dry sigh.

“His soul isn’t destroyed,” Master Fu began, pale steam foaming airly at the rim of his sloshing tea cup, “It may mean nothing, but it’s sleeping. Not dead, destroyed... _sleeping. _”__

____

____

“The spell?”

“Is for destroyed souls. And even then it rarely brings them back.” Master Fu answered, “And even then it took the uptomost willpower and strongest of magic. The spell would let you wade into the waters of his soul and perhaps awaken the surface tides…but you would have to dive deep into his soul to spin up powerful currents.”

“No more riddles,” Marinette said cooly, “Just tell me what to do.”

“I have no doubt that you can wake up the shallow parts of his soul - little things, vague memories, small emotions, daydreams. But when you - _if _you could manage to reach deeper into his soul with the spell, you would be dealing with much harder things to mend. Intense emotions, special memories, virtues of the heart.”__

____

____

“I’ll try.” Marinette said.

“I’m sure you will,” Master Fu agreed, “But it will probably not be enough.”

✭⚜✭

“Ah! Myriads and mayhem all dance and race,” A voice called before Marinette could take a step, “What catosphere has spun ye’ down to this place?”

Marinette swiveled around, “Who are you?” she paused, “Where are you?”

“I’m the light that doesn’t eat the dark,” The voice giggled, “And you’re a ladybug that doesn’t know how to fly, condrums, condrums, how stark.

“Not more riddles,” Marinette groaned.

“Riddles are the language of the impossible heart,” The voice piped up, “Take my words for more and you’ll have a good start.”

“Please, just tell me what I have to do - better yet, _who _you are-”__

____

____

“Think. Why are you here?” The voice questioned, avoiding Marinette’s questions, “Is it because you desire to take back what you made disappear? Or is it something more fond, more faint, an illusion of emotion that passes over your head straight?”

“I’m here to save Adrien,” Marinette said darkly.

“Sure. Sounds fun. But are you really so eager to let your silly little mind run?” The voice said, “You’ve got a gift, something special and bright. But I can’t be any help, it’s up to you to make things right.”

“You weren’t exactly any help in the first place,” Marinette grumbled, “What do you mean I have a gift?”

“Destroy, create, elate, desecrate.” The voice rhymed idly, “You hold a silver needle with a universe in the eye, take that magic and use it to sew together the sky…”

“English, please?” Marinette asked.

“You’re quadratic, you’re breaking. You’re sunshine, you’re making,” The voice said, “Look inside yourself, you’ve got a soul filled with stories. Think! What makes you true? What makes you blue? Why were chosen to be hero? Take the inequalities and sew them to zero. You’re a tailor, how strange! Stitch a heart for me, tessellate, arange.”

“A soul filled with stories...and _sewing? _” Marinette said, “I can tell stories? Sew?”__

____

____

“Close, so far, but still no cigar,” The voice hummed, sweet as a lullaby, “You’ve got to take everything and drench it in the waters of metaphor. Take what’s real and sound and tangible and make it a little more. Here’s a hint, take as you please. You’re a ladybug, who’s knitted together bees.”

Marinette fought back a scowl, _do it for him, do it for Adrien, do for Chat, ignore the voice trying to get a rise out of you, _“Does that mean anything?”__

____

____

“Everything means something, sometimes.”

_Great. More tricks. Think, Marinette. What could all of it mean. Sewing, souls, stories...they all start with s...but I doubt that’s the big idea I’m supposed to get. I’m a ladybug, that knits together bees- ___

____

____

Realization jolted like hot, white electricity through Marinette's mind, _it’s like what Master Fu said, _“The ladybug creates, right? And the bee is supposed to represent...relationships...friends, romance-” she paused, thinking, “I can...sew relationships together. Does that mean I can make him remember us?”__

____

____

“Now you’re talking!” The voice laughed, “But are you walking? Sure, you’ve cracked the code, but you’ve missed the mode. Dive a little deeper and scrape the coral garden. Break away and don’t let that red heart of yours harden. See, I mean what I say, don’t mean what I said, everything’s perfectly out of my brain - and out of my _reach! _Tailor, think past the yarn and thread. What’s up in your head? Besides mending, what’s your way of tending?”__

____

____

“You said something about stories.”

“Perhaps I did, I’m not sure if I didn’t.” 

“I can tell stories?”

“Maybe? I’m not the judge. Take your heart and hold the grudge. Do you tell or do you see? I don’t know, it’s not up to me.”

“I know stories!” Marinette said, suddenly energetic, “I - this is a story, isn’t it?”

“You’re quick as whip, sharp as a glass, just make sure you don’t let your time pass. Quick to expire, but burning with fire - a soul takes naught kindly to a spinster in it’s webs.”

Marinette chewed on those words for a long while before answering, her mind turning and clunking over every meaning, “I’m in a story,” she recapped, the voice mhmm-ing in agreement, “And since there’s pieces missing of Adrien’s soul...there must be pieces missing to the story too. I can mend the story back together, can’t I? But...I only have so much time.”

“A precious gift, a precarious present, don’t get lost between ribbons of memory, child. This dream is inverting around us, the center falls away, life becomes wild-” The voice held its breath (did it even _have _breath? Or was it just a finely tuned hallucination of Marinette’s?), “You burn away your purpose with each gulp of light, give too much and you’ll be lost to the smoke of the night.”__

____

____

Marinette didn’t understand the voice’s words, but she did understand the severity behind each letter, the darkness and the desperation. It wasn’t a riddle, Marinette realized, it was a _warning. ___

____

____

“I must make my going, the river is surely rowing. A stream of gentle color muddles down, don’t go ahead and frown,” The voice chirped, already losing its volume, “Watch your marbles and test the water, but don’t go and drown, little daughter.”

“Who are you?” Marinette asked quickly, yelling into the wind.

The voice laughed, “I’m you, bugaboo, just not as true. I’m your guide, and I’m your searching tide. I’m your north star and your compass. I’ll point North, but don’t be tricked. I’m just an ember of your own mind, a helper of your own devices.”

Marinette stood still, “You’re _me? An ember of your own mind _...are you my consciousness?”__

____

____

There was no answer and suddenly Marinette felt alone. Silence echoed.

“Well, that was a headache,” Marinette said, “but at least I know where I am.”

She looked around, “I think. The voice said I was in a story...and Master Fu said that Adrien’s soul keeps all his memories...is this a story he remembers?”

Marinette looked around. There had to be hints - _clues, _left behind like breadcrumbs of Adrien’s soul. She focused, trying to derive meaning from each small detail.__

____

____

“What story could it be?” Marinette wondered aloud, “I’m in a garden, maybe a field, but-” she looked around just to be sure, “Nobody is here. I’m alone.”

_What story has a girl all alone in a field? And why would it matter to Adrien? ___

____

____

Marinette searched through her knowledge of stories, but no tale popped to the surface of her mind. Nothing seemed to fit. There was just no story that fit the vague limitations of this one.

“Unless, it’s a story Adrien made up,” But Marinette doubted that. Something felt oddly familiar about the landscape. The wind howled as she thought, screaming it’s displeasure. The sun dimmed as clouds rolled in slowly, “Think, think, think, where am I?”

Thunder roared in the distance.

Marinette watched with wide eyes as the skies broke open with a terrible storm, dark clouds frothing with sleet and rain. She screamed and the ground fissured open like the hungry maw of a beast, to swallow her up and smother her in darkness.

Marinette felt herself shriek in fear as she tumbled down into the endless black abyss, twisting endlessly down, down, down…

✭⚜✭

“I think it’ll be enough,” Marinette said, “So when can I perform the spell?”

“Soon,” Master Fu admitted, “You must understand this is no small task.”

“It’s no small task to save all of Paris everytime a butterfly beats its wings, but _we _coped,” Marinette answered and wondered idly when she’d become so frozen cold and callous towards a man she’d once revered as a teacher.__

____

____

_When you put people on a pedestal, _Marinette thought, watching as Master Fu turned away from her, _It’s easy to forget they’re going to fall eventually. _____

_____ _

_____ _

✭⚜✭  
Marinette landed on her feet gracefully, not even a small shock of pain coursing up what should be her shattered ankles. She shook, terrified and took in a deep breath. 

A deep, rumbling howl met Marinette’s ears. All around her, laid a dark, dreary landscape. Bushes and trees grew in the damp grey grass, but the leaves were wilted and a matte shade of black-purple. Marinette turned around, sweat already rolling down her face and sizzling as it hit the grass. 

“Oh my gosh,” Marinette said weakly, “What is this place?”

It was nothing like the peaceful garden of above. Thick, humid heat rolled through the air, as distorted screaming and shrieking shattered her eardrums. Tormented wails, weeping, all kinds of terrible groans and moans...Marinette covered her ears, eyes streaming with hot tears forced out by the rushing of wind past her face during her fall.

“Get me out of here!” Marinette yelled, “Tikki, Alya, someone, please!” 

_Please, the dark abyss echoed back, get me out of here! ___

____

____

Marinette dropped to her knees, terror taking hold of her heart, pure fear making her tremble and weep. Shadowy figures flew past her, chaos making her heard whirl with horror upon horror.

“Mom!” Marinette howled, reduced to a shivering mass of bone and blood, her thoughts burning away with the painful heat, “Dad!”

_Mom, Dad, _the echo mocked.__

____

____

Panic seemed to infect Marinette’s mind, mashing all of her thoughts into frenzied anxiety. She felt a sob break from her mouth, the fear reaching its zenith, her heart fit to burst-

“STOP!” 

Marinette raised her head. The screams and wails had faded. She shook and wrapped arms around herself, then looked up at her savior.

In front of her was a man.

He had hair the color of dying milkweed, pale, egg-white and bleached, his skin like the sleek flesh of a ripe peach and only a few shades lighter. His eyes were dull, but eerily menacing, the shade of a thick, poisonous swampy film over a cool water. He wore a crown of sharp carrion bones and nightshade, the dull colors of his laurel making him seemed even more washed out and a long black toga so dark it seemed to dry out any light by him.

But despite the hell and horror in his weary features, Marinette could tell by the curve of his sad smile and the sway to his shoulders, that this was Adrien.

“Adrien,” Marinette breathed, utterly nonplussed, still shaking, “Adrien, is that really you?”

“Dry your typhooning eyes, my humble dearest, and cease your inane mumblings,” Adrien said, his words smooth and sticky as honey, melodious as a steel drum as they echoed through the dark abyss, “I have brought you from the clutches of the envious Sun. Your beauty enticed me like the first fruit of Spring entices the morning birds. I have taken you from your earthly bounds, so now we can be tied in the sanctity of marriage.”

“I-” Marinette felt her eyes widen, “What do you mean? Who are you?” anger rose like bile in her throat, “What did you do with him?”

“By that name, you know me not,” Adrien said, “I am a pale imposter, but still pale in his image, so henceforth, I am his twin in blood. Lay upon me your worries, dear wife, I will soothe them.” he twisted a ring around his finger nervously, his jaw working as he spoke, “You will call me by the name in which Fate has inscribed to me.”

“And what would that be?” Marinette said, already creeping back.

“Hades.”

The puzzle pieces clicked together in Marinette’s brain, “You’re…” _Hades...falling from a beautiful field to a dark abyss...the underworld. This...This is the story of Hades and Persephone! But...why? Why would Adrien care about this story? ___

____

____

“Come along, my bride, let us be entangled by the strings of our hearts,” Adrien said (She _refused _to think of him as Hades), “I will take you to the crest of the Lethe and wash away your dreary memories of the above, if you so wish. Then we can be truly united under the eyes of Fate.” Adrien, with startling speed reached out and grabbed Marinette’s wrist, icnling her to face him, “Let you be my rose and I will adore you in all your ways-”__

____

____

Marinette jerked away, “Not happening! Tell me where Adrien is-” she felt her cheeks burn red with embarrassment, “Tell me right now, you villain!”

Adrien’s cheeks flushed a glaucous mint green, paling his skin even more, “A villian? Just because I dwell in the darkness of Death makes me naught a son of wickedness.”

“Kidnapping me makes you one,” And suddenly Marinette was viciously thankful that she had taken a Classic Literature class, despite Alya’s teasing that it was silly, or else she’d never be able to parse through the vaguely purple prose of Adrien’s words, “Where is he?”

“He is here,” Adrien pointed to himself, above his heart, “I am his mind’s phantom, thus I am also him. Come now, you argue too much,” Marinette squeaked in fear as something grabbed her, “Draw back your sharp tongue, our else your kiss will draw unwilling ichor from my lips.”

“You’re disgusting and _not Adrien! _” Marinette yelled, thrashing aganist her shadowy captors behind her. They dragged her along, Adrien leading the way, “I’m not your Persephone and I’m not going to kiss you-”__

__“A soul bitter, it wilts the leaves of Life around it,” Adrien said wearily, striding, “My own soul is such. But, you, you are sweet with Summer’s blessing and joyful with the kiss of Spring. Must you protest me and slander me for yearning for your warmth?”_ _

__“Yes,” Marinette snarled._ _

__“Well, so be it,” Adrien said with a sigh, “For you a gift, the draught of slumber cultivated by Hypnos-” he stopped and turned to Marinette, kissing her on the top of the head, “Goodnight, my queen.”_ _

__Marinette opened her mouth to yell, but the words stuck to her tongue like honey. She felt her head sag and her eyes close. Before she could form a thought, she fell back into darkness, sleep overtaking her and throwing her into a dream within a dream._ _


	2. consul somnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues...
> 
> (did you guys know about Rich Text? It's so amazing. So, so amazing.)

_ “...a chasm opened in the earth and out of it coal-black horses sprang, drawing a chariot and driven by one who had a look of dark splendor, majestic and beautiful and terrible. He caught her to him and held her close. The next moment she was being borne away from the radiance of earth in springtime to the world of the dead by the king who rules it.”  _

 

  * Edith Hamilton, Mythology: The Timeless Tales of Gods and Heroes



 

✭⚜✭

 

Marinette woke up in a garden,  _ again _ .

 

(She was getting sick of these damn gardens. One more bush or thicket and she’d  _ scream _ -)

 

But this garden was unlike the one of before. It was mystical and somber, nightshade and lilies blooming out of dark bushes, freezing cold dew dripping down from the shadowy boughs of sinew colored trees. Marinette lifted herself up from the grey grass and looked around wildly.

 

“That  _ bastard _ ,” Marinette yelled to nobody, but a voice answered her. Many voices.

 

“Our lord is not the son of illegitimate means,” The voices chorused, “but instead ripened like a fruit inside the womb of Earth, to be plunged and gorged into the fearsome maw of the Titan, Kronos.”

 

“Great!” Marinette chirped back, eyes narrowed, “More mysterious voices with no bodies.”

 

A shifting and great shuffling came from the bushes and the leaves, “We are mysterious, but we are not so mysterious, as to hold no form.” four small, ethereal little creatures bubbled into sight, each one small and feline, with wide, soppy eyes of amber and gold.

 

Marinette stared with wide eyes as the creatures padded up to her, leaving starry mist in their tred, pawprints sparkling with shimmering translucence.

 

“We are the oneiroi,” they all said in one voice, “what brings you to the realm where Life can not permeate it’s pollen and fertilize?”

 

“Your  _ master _ ,” Marinette said, “kidnapped me and brought me here.”

 

“He is not our master!” the oneiroi boomed, “We are spirits of Hypnos, creatures of dreams. Please, offer him some sweet sympathy,” The oneiroi said, “for he knows not the ways of a real man, as he has been locked in the boughs of this place for eons.” the trees shook again, cool, balmy wind coming across the garden, “We assure you he is no villain, but a god of unfavorable means, but  _ naught _ his own desire.”

 

“Unfavorable means? We’re in  _ Hell! _ ” Marinette shrieked.

“Hell is hot and burns the tongues of the sinners,” The oneiroi chided, “are you not a saint? Do you torment under flames?”

 

“Where is he?” Marinette asked, hands clenched in weak fists.

 

“That’s neither here nor there, or anywhere,” The oneiroi mumbled, wobbling in the breeze like tricky spiderwebs of shimmering illusion, doe eyes wide, “he’s not here, dear. He’s fog and mist, light between your fingers.”

 

“So tell me how to find him-”

 

“I see you’ve met the precipitous pests.”

 

Marinette turned to face Adrien, who loomed over her like a dark cloud, “ _ You _ .” she spat.

 

“I’ve come to adorn you in the laurels of the garden,” Adrien said, “And dress you in the treasure of the Earth.” he dipped down to kiss her hand, but she jerked back, fuming, “Let the moon and the stars be witness to our union, and let them cast away the envious Sun.”

 

Fury bubbled up in Marinette, “Cast away  _ this _ , Shakespeare-” her hand drew back and she relished in the thick, doughy crack that broke through her fingers as she slapped Adrien.

 

Adrien reeled back, stricken, cheeks seaweed blue with shock, “How dare-”

 

“Listen, you’re telling me where he is right now!” Marinette yelled, the oneiroi shuffling behind her.

 

“So be it,” Adrien said, thick, glutinous ichor rolling down his face, “I will request your presence at the midnight hour.”

 

Marinette watched as Adrien disappeared again into black mist.

 

“You must be very special indeed,” The oneriori had returned, speaking in their omni-voice again, a single chord of symphony through the air, “to strike the royal face without earning his vile contempt.”

 

“Please, tell me there’s a way out of here,” Marinette said, facing the oneiroi, “You’re spirits of dreams, right? You must know how to get out.”

 

“Of course we know the way back to the Sun,” The onerori said, “But are you ready to face it? You’re missing a piece of the puzzle, our soon to be queen.”

 

“Don’t call me that-” Marinette gave up on trying to fight the implications of the fever dream she was trapped in with a frustrated sigh, “How do I leave?”

 

“Do you want to leave?” The anterior shuffled their ethereal tails, musing to themselves with wise looks and ancient deramores, “You do not have the kiss of our not-master yet.”

 

“I don’t want to get married to him!” Marinette sulked, “Please, just tell me how to go home.”

 

“Your feelings on the son of shadows matters not,” one oneiroi chimed in, padding up to Marinette, “They call me Morpheus, for my touch is like morphine, cleansing as the fresh Lethe. You desire to save the man trapped within this mirage, do you not?”

 

“Yes,” Marinette said desperately, “Tell me how.”

 

“That is against the ball and chain,” Morpheus said, the three other oneiroi nodding sagely, “If I speak in truth, I will shatter your thin membrane and tesser you away.”

 

Marinette groaned inwardly, “So there’s nothing you can do?” she shook her head sadly, “I’ll just escape myself, then.”

 

“If you escape now,” another oneiroi said, “Then you will not receive the not-master’s heart. My name is Phobeter, and I am the quiet tinker, the silent creator of what lurks-in-the-dark-of-the mind.”

 

“His heart-” Marinette said, “His heart is in this dream?”

 

“Sometimes,” all the oneiroi whispered, voices like the wind, “If you want his heart’s essence to return to the world of the waking...you must look into the keyhole of this dream and sew your own key.”

 

“Like...like my voice said,” Marinette blurted, then felt foolish. The onerror thankfully didn’t find Marinette’s odd proclamation strange (or if they did, they were excellent at pretending to not find it so.), “How do I make a key?”

 

“You sew it with the threads of your heart,” Morpheus said. (He had amber eyes and black paws, Marinette noticed, and was the most solid of the oneiroi, his form not shifting and sliding like non-newtonian slime, liquid until some intense force molded them into solid form.), “And tie a ribbon with your quick mind.”

 

“Riddles, riddles, riddles,” Marinette said under her breath.

 

“You must love the unlovable, comfort a lonely man with your own loneliness,” Morpheus explained, “You understand how this story goes. So finish it.”

 

“So finish it,” the rest of the oneiroi added.

 

_ How the story goes...with Persephone marrying Hades, eating the seeds of the pomegranate,  _ Marinette felt her skin prickle with unease, “Is that really the only way?”

 

“So it goes,” Morpheus said and disappeared with the rest of the oneiroi in clouds of faint stardust. Marinette sighed.

 

“You read Vonnegut once,” She mourned silently to herself, remembering sloppy, dog-eared copies of  _ Slaughterhouse-5 _ , “And then you’ve just got to jerk everyone around to remind them.”

 

_ Shouldn’t have taken Classics then, _ a voice mocked in the back of her head. Marinette ignored it and instead tried to swallow the task ahead of her.

 

✭⚜✭

 

Kurt Vonnegut hadn’t prepared Marinette for this. In those clusterfucks of novels he slobbered out with a creative fury still untouched today, he’d never written clear, (and probably sardonic) instructions on how to deal with romantic Greek gods with a fondness for kidnapping poor, pale maidens.

 

Which Marinette wasn’t. But in this story and Vonnegut's version as well, she probably was. Those time-breaking, sci-fi thriller classics had always had a sexist smell ingrained in the yellowing vanilla pages.

 

_ Now’s not the time _ , Marinette grumbled to himself,  _ we’ve got better things to focus on then the topic of Kurt Vonnegut's possible misogyny. _

 

Marinette was nervous. Her mind always wandered to strange places when was tense. She’d been stuck in the garden for many hours now and she was too anxious to explore outside of it. The sun (which was nothing more than a great orb of pasty chalk white in the underworld) had fallen long ago. She knew midnight was coming, but that brought her no relief.

 

She probably had a few more hours. Only a little more time till the clock struck twelve and she  _ Cinderella’d _ her way out of this Hell. She held onto that reassuring thought and waited.

 

But before midnight even struck, a new person burst into existence in front of Marinette. 

 

“My queen,” the person - the  _ beast _ said in a bullfrog croak of a voice, rows of teeth bared in a british smile, “You must not be dressed in those rags-” Marinette looked down at her clothes, which she noticed had changed into dirty bronze robes of linen, tied with plant string, “when you are wed to our king.”

 

“Of...course,” Marinette said. The beast offered a hand and Marinette took it with shaking fingers. The hand was a mitt of leather black, with gruesome claws and sickly spots of matted fur.

 

“Don’t worry,” the beast snorted, jostling their mossy grey horns with pleasure at Marinette’s terror, “These claws will not sever your skin, despite its splendor. I bet you bleed brighter than the righteous son of the Aether. Did you see Olympus, dear princess of the darkness?” a mocking tone fell into the beast’s voice as it dragged Marinette along to a imposing castle in the distance.

 

“No,” Marinette said and it was the truth. 

 

“My name is Alecto,” the beast said, “The fury of Hell, that is what I am.” she said it was fervent praise for herself, her meaty wings beating the air with excitement, “Would you like a deltatable of this world, queen?” she held out her other clawed hand, a pomegranate lying on the ghastly palm.

 

_ When Persephone ate the six seeds of the pomegranate, she had been tricked,  _ Marinette remembered, looking at the waxy skin of the offered treat,  _ because she had ate food from the underworld, she was stuck there forever. But Zeus and Demeter made a deal with Hades. Perpshone, because she had six seeds, would only spend six months in the underworld. _

 

“I’m fine, thank you-” Alecto snarled, “But maybe I’ll eat it later.” she snatched the pomegranate away with deft hands.

 

“Foolish cur-” Alecto ground her teeth, and jerked Marinette along, “Dastardly whore-”

 

“I’m right here,” Marinette whispered sarcastically.

 

Alecto growled under her breath. She dragged Marinette all the way to the castle she had seen earlier stopping at the wide black onyx doors.

 

Two guards stood tall at the doors, with wings of tar and candlewax. They glared down at Marinette with blazing eyes, flames of purple light swirling in their deep set sockets.

 

“The princess,” One guard said, “I suppose we shall let you in.” Both guards trembled with laughter, their bones shaking.

 

Alecto just huffed in irritation and pushed past the guards, yanking open the doors.

 

“I will dress you in the finery of Hell,” Alecto mocked, sing-song, “You will look like a queen of trickery and evils, painted in coal and mucus”

 

Marinette gagged to herself, “Thank you for your kindness.”

 

Alecto snuffed, taking Marinette past a imperial throne room. Two thrones stood tall, one shorter than the other, but the shorter was almost more fearsome. It was decorated with dark blossoms, sharp animal bones, pale infernos of topaz and ruby  detailing. As if to set it all off, a dark cloth laid over it.

 

“That will be your helm,” Alecto said, “Disgusting, is it not?”

 

Marinette refused to answer.  _ That cloth...it looks like a burial shroud.  _ She thought. She tried not to think about the implications of that too much, but worry still ate at her nerves...

 

✭ ⚜ ✭

 

It was a long walk to Marinette’s “chamber” and Alecto’s primping and powdering of Marinette was even longer. Strange good lathered themselves on Marinette’s skin, thick powders the color of spider silks were draped on her like veils.

 

“All that is left is to change!” Alecto cried, shining with mirth at Marinette’s discomfort, “I shall not help.” she added, pulling away from the room and peeking around from the door, “Call me when you are finished.”

 

Marinette looked at the clothes left for her on the bed and gingerly began to change into them, each brush of fabric against her sore skin making her wince with ot just pain, but disgust. She’d be taking a long shower after this horror show.

 

Finally, she’d managed to pull on her whole wedding array and shyly knocked at the door. Alecto flew in and cheered at Marinette’s frown.

 

“How fitting,” Alecto oozed with condescending excitement, “Look in the bed-mirror, queen of dirt and bones.”

 

Marinette looked in the mirror.

 

A crown of thick, pale laurels laid on her head, golden thread and poisonous purple-red berries sewn into the sturdy leaving branches. She was dressed in whispy, ghastly white robes, her skin pale as moonlight in the soft silken tresses of her long wedding dress. She brought her fingers to her cheek as if to draw blood with her nails, but instead stared, blank-eyed in the mirror.

 

“You look like a messenger of the gods,” Alecto said, sundered black teeth masticating a thick glob of raw, blood meat. Grisle flew around in slime-rich chunks and Marinette forced down her gagging, “Those bejeweled eyes, I could drink the rivers of your irises like the thick slob of the the Lethe.”

 

Marinette felt her skin green with disgust, her stomach rolling, “Drink my eyes?” she whispered, still looking in the mirror.

 

“You look like a vestal queen, ready to be plucked from the golden boughs of the apple tree,” Alecto’s long livery tongue jerked out and slathered their lips with bitter saliva, “a juicy, fleshy fruit to be cored and sliced-”

 

“ _ Stop.” _

 

Alecto cackled, voice raw and smoky, “You no likey when I speak like nauseating garbage? Like a rotten crab getting diguesting by the great maw of Poseidon’s children? I speak like oceans and slime and it makes you feel  _ icky, yucky, _ bad inside?” she whipped back brown-red hair-

 

_ Lila. _ Marinette thought. She pursed her lips.

 

“Shut up,” Marinette said.

 

“A fine dessert for the king Hades, a sweet morsel to be devoured,” Alecto ( _ Lila?) _ crooned, creeping up to Marinette, digging dirty claws into her exposed back, “The harlot queen placed upon his apostle throne, to be a trophy of his rich splendor.”

 

_ Great, now the demon is calling me a trophy wife, _ Marinette sucked in a breath, whipping to face the demon, who’s ash grey eyes hung slack in their sockets, rolling like errant marbles.

 

“Leave me alone,” Marinette said.

 

“As you wish, apple of  _ his- _ ” stress on the  _ his _ , Marinette recoiled both mentally and physically, feeling filthy, “beady little eye.”

 

Alecto smirked, all their cracked and pitted teeth showing before they dissipated in a splash of sulfuric smoke.

 

Marinette looked in the mirror for one last time, her cheeks dusted with bone powder and lips smeared with what she prayed wasn’t sticky blood and walked down the imposing staircase.

 

_ Please,  _ she whispered,  _ let me get out of this alive.  _

 

It felt like a walk that took a lifetime, stepping down those marble stairs. 

 

The moon was high when she reached the end. She made her away down a hallway and soon she was she was back in the throne room, violet banner waving above the thrones of cold steel spines and wilting roses.

 

Adrien looked down at Marinette from his throne, already dressed as well, “Ah, so we are to be married now, without complaint?” he smiled, arms crossed, legs spread, “How pleasant of you, my dear.”

 

Marinette pulled the pomegranate out of her pocket. She understood what she had to do. Adrien seemed puzzled.

 

“I marry thee, not out of love for you,” Marinette said, pomegranate held tight in her hand, “But out of love for who you have been, what you could have been, what you might have been.”

 

“You love me for my failed chances? My illusionary selves?” Adrien drew his lips into a confused line.

 

“I marry thee,” Marinette said, fingers digging into the flesh of the pomegranate, “Not out of love for Hades, the glutton of souls, the king of the underworld, the tyrant of Death, but out of love for Adrien Agreste and the Hades of failed chances and peaceful slumber.”

 

“The oneiroi have skunk their fangs into you and drawn bubbles of blood,” Adrien said, flustered as the fruit of the underworld wobble precariously between Marinette’s interlaced fingers, “They took that blood and used to it fertilize delusion in your mortal mind, did they not?”

 

“I’m not delusional,” Marinette argued, “I’m forgiving.”

 

“Forgiving-” Adrien seemed shaken, his eyes wide, as if he’d never thought someone would pity him. It was humorous in a sad sort of wya.

 

“I seal my fate and take your hand,” Marinette said, splitting the pomegranate and fishing out six seeds with precision. Juicy fruit flesh laid on her fingers and she raised the seeds to her mouth, “I hope you’re a good husband.” she narrowed her eyes playfully, somber, “And I hope you can cook too. I’m terrible in the kitchen, besides baking. I burn everything.”

 

Adrien was shocked silent. Marinette popped the seeds back into her mouth and the world burst into color around her. The garden of the underworld turned into a sea of shades, emerald grass bordering dark purple nightshade and bone white lilies, darkness and light perfectly mellowing each other out. 

 

“And now, I am your wife,” Marinette said, “And I will spend six months here not because of duty, but desire.”

 

“You love me?”

 

“That’s what you’re stuck on?” Marinette grinned weakly, watching as blood-orange morning lilies bloomed ahead of her, ivy dripping off of newly grown trees, “You are really a stupid, stupid cat. But…” she paused, “You’re not as stupid as your father.”

 

_ Adrien cared about this story because he thought he’d become Hades,  _ Marinette understood now,  _ but he never read more than one version of the story, apparently. Because many tales change the story...Persephone wasn’t stolen away. She chose to come down to the underworld...and ate those seeds to stay with her new love. _

 

“I think it’s time for me to go home,” Marinette said. (And it was time for her to go home. She’d learned what she needed from this story. She had Adrien’s heart - just as the oneiroi had said.)

 

Marinette held her breath and let the bubbles of oxygen in her lungs  _ explode _ out into the air, her fingers fizzling like pop rocks doused in nitric acid as they skimmed the smooth, silver film of the endless ocean below her.

 

She twisted in the breeze like a errant Autumn blossom carried away by the gales of the season, dipped down into the iron sea and  _ pop- _

 

“Morning sunshine,” Nino said, “How was the trip?”

 

Marinette looked down at her hands. The pomegranate was still there. (Adrien’s  _ heart  _ was in her palms.) But instead of fruit, it as made of crystal and it laid there in her hands like an unblemished petal of light. It was fitting, that Adrien would have such a bright heart. Marinette smiled.

 

_ Congratulations,  _ the oneiroi whispered to her, as she beamed weakly,  _ you made it. _

 

✭⚜✭

  
  


“I can’t feel my fingers,” Marinette said, her skin feeling puddled and heavy on her bones as Nino placed her into a comfy chair, Chloe watching silently, “How long was I gone?”

 

“A couple of hours,” Nino informed her, passing Marinette a ceramic bowl of a thin, watery poultice as she fell back into the chair, “Master Fu said that you should rub this on anything that feels weird.”

 

“Weird?” Marinette said.

 

“Wiggly. Numb. Dead.” Nino shook his fingers to explain, “Got it?”

 

Marinette had always been fond of letting her actions speak. She swept her nicotine numb fingers through the poultice, sighing in relief as the cool sage colored blend made her fingers flush with tingles of warm sensation.

 

“You guys just sat here and waited for me to wake up?” She asked, after slathering her hands with the poultice.

 

“What else were we going to do?” Chloe said.

 

Marinette lathed more of the poultice onto her skin, rubbing it in carefully, “I don’t know. Get food? Go home? Get some rest?” her head was spinning, the greedy breaths of air she sucked in somehow stale.

 

“Alya did two of those things,” Nino said, “She got us all milkshakes - you included, then passed out in the corner waiting for you to wake up.”

 

Marinette’s stomach turned, “Passed out-”

 

“She’s asleep, keep it together,” Chloe said, “Please. You already look like you’re being kept together with duct tape and pins.”

 

Marinette scowled at Chloe, then looked back at Nino, “Milkshakes?” 

 

“Milkshakes.” Nino parroted back, like a stupid cockatiel.

 

Marinette looked over at the corner of the room farthest from her. Curled up like a fox, arms tucked beneath her, was Alya, snoozing away quietly, “When’s the last time she’s slept?”

 

“Beats me,” Chloe said darkly, passing a styrofoam cup decorated with blue and purple waves of color to Marinette, holding it out expectantly, “Drink up. I know you’ve got to be starving.”

 

“I have goo on my hands,” Marinette said, holding up her sticky green fingers in disdain.

 

Nino tossed her a bundle of paper thin napkins, “Compliments of Sir McDonald himself.”

 

“Thanks,” Marinette said, grabbing hold of the napkins and rubbing off the slimy goo on her fingers slowly. She grabbed her milkshake, a quick taste confirming it to be vanilla, and took a long sip.

 

It tasted dry, flavorless. Like someone had taken vanilla flavoring and ran it through a printer, saturating the taste till it was almost all synthesized out. She ran her tongue over her cold teeth and set the milkshake down. Her sticky fingers were shaking.

 

“Are you okay?” Chloe asked, strangely sweet (almost saccharine, like bubblegum dripping with pink sugar syrup. It made Marinette’s stomach twist.)

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Marinette said dumbly, her tongue feeling heavy.

 

“Because you just slingshotted yourself into la-la-land without a parachute and now you look like  _ dogshit _ ,” Chloe rubbed fingers into her temple, quietly 

disgusted, “You just laid on the floor and drooled like a hungry Saint Bernard until you spazzed your way back into reality.”

 

“I didn’t spaz,” Marinette said.

 

“Sure. Did it work?” Chloe asked, eyes averted.

 

“I don’t know,” Marinette admitted, “Everything feels the same. 

 

“I’m going back,” Marinette said, holding the crystal pomegranate in her hands.

 

“You’re going back?” Nino parroted back, shocked.

 

“Give this to him,” Marinette said, handing over the pomegranate as if it was a precious heirloom, “It’s his heart.”

 

“It’s his  _ what? _ ” Nino squawked like a pelican, voice cracking.

 

“His heart,” Marinette repeated, “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“How the hell did you get his  _ heart? _ ” Chloe asked, “And besides, that’s a piece of fruit, not a heart, dumbass.”

 

“When we did the spell, I walked into Adrien’s soul,” Marinette explained slowly, feeling frustrated for some vague, odd reason.

 

It felt like words were nails on chalkboards, scents all putrid and chemical against her olfactory glands. She felt shifted, shaken, like a alien shoved into a rocket ship and dumped onto Earth without a tour guide, “We’re magical superheroes, Chloe. Is it really that weird to suggest that this piece of glass fruit is a physical manifestation of Adrien’s heart?” the last words escaped like steam from a boiling kettle, hot and thin.

 

Chloe glared, “You really think nobody is going to find it weird that we want to put a giant fake pomegranate next to his hospital bed?”

 

“You’re  _ rich  _ and  _ bratty _ ,” Marinette rolled her eyes, “You could put a elephant in his room and nobody would even bat an eyelash if they even though the words:  _ my daddy will hear about this _ , were about to come out your mouth.”

 

“Oh, fuck you,” Chloe said, but looked intently at the pomegranate, “This is going to heal him?”

 

“Not all the way,” Marinette admitted, “I’m not done yet. There’s more pieces of him left. I could feel it.”

 

Alya stirred in the corner. Chloe looked back at her, then Marinette, then just groaned with ridiculous amounts of haughty expersation.

 

“Listen, I know you’re going on one of your  _ i’ll-be-the-hero-for-everyone _ sprees just like Adrien used to do-” Chloe said, “But don’t let it get to your head. Before you even think about conking out again, get a plastic sheet for all your slobber. Maybe take a nap too. At least wait for Alya to wake up.”

 

“I didn’t know you cared so much,” Marinette mocked. (She knew Chloe cared. Chloe cared too much. It was one of her bad traits. One of  _ many. _ Alya called them Chloe’s  _ quirks _ .), “How about this? I skip the plastic sheet and take a ten minute nap.”

 

“ _ And  _ you wait for mentally stable supervision,” Chloe finished, “Come on, DJ boy, we’re off to the hospital.”

 

“How?” Nino said dryly, “We’re just going to walk?”

 

“Don’t act you’ve never walked before,” Chloe chided and pulled Nino out the door, both warning Marinette to behave in their own special ways. Marinette felt like a naughty puppy being left alone for the first time.

 

✭⚜✭

 

Alya woke up only a few minutes later, eyes lazy with sleep. She saw Marinette and lept over, crushing her in a bruising hug.

 

“Alya, I need to breathe-” Marinette struggled in her friend’s grasp, “Let me go!”

 

Alya yanked back, oblivious to Marinette’s irritation, “I thought you were-” she sniffled, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

 

Marinette softened slightly, feeling guilty, “I got Adrien’s heart back.”

 

“I know,” Alya said seriously, “I...I could feel it.”

 

“You could feel it?” Marinette asked, head cocked.

 

“Remember what you told me, about Master Fu and the miraculouses?” Alya said. Marinette nodded, “Trixx told me more about it. The fox is the miraculouses of magic...not just illusions, but real, true magic.”

 

“So you could feel the spell?” Marinette said.

 

“I felt parts of it,” Alaya explained, “That’s why I fell asleep - I was exhausted from it all.”

 

“Did you see me?”

 

“I didn’t see anything,” Alaya admitted, “I just felt it. Shocks and scenes of feeling, not the whole quesadilla, you know?”

 

“Master Fu was right then, for once,” Marinette said, “I’m going back.”

 

“Right now?” Alya said, “But, Mari, I felt part of what happened - that was  _ intense _ . You need to rest. Just a little. For me?”

 

The last part was unashamed emotional manipulation. Marinette just grinned at it.

 

“Sorry,” Marinette said, already trodding over to the miraculous circle, “You can have the rest of my milkshake.”

 

“I don’t want your stupid fucking milkshake,” Alya snifled, “Be careful, okay?”

 

“Okay.” Marinette touched the miraculous circle and held her breath. The world fell out beneath her, reality sundering into shards, sunlight ripping through her chest like a thin spear, casting her body into the great beyond, whipping her like a callous wind into a new place, a new  _ time- _

 

✭⚜✭

 

Marinette opened her mouth to breath and kissed the grass.

 

“Ow,” she sniped, pushing herself up from the ground. Long sleeves stuck to her skin and she peeled them off, sweating.

 

Just like the last story, her clothes had changed to fit the story. A kimono laid loose on her small form, waves of salmon skin and damp rose colored fabric whirled around her curves and bends of elbows and knees. A thin dove feather white ribbon of a sash wrapped around her waist and her hair was pulled back into a delicate bun decorated with blossoms.

 

“Japanese,” Marinette said quickly, running her fingers over her kimono thoughtfully, “What is it this time, Adrien?” 

The wind whistled. Marinette looked around. Illuminated in faint blue, miles away, laid a crown of mountains. Thick sprouts of grass grew all around her, twisted up like verdant snakes. Tall trees swarmed over her, glossy green-black, and smaller trees stood by her too, with small flowers the color of a pale pink sunset or pink lemonade.

 

“Cherry blossoms,” Marinette said, “Mountains...well, that’s not very helpful…”

 

She started to walk forward, looking for more clues. She squinted, eyes dry. A hazy mirage of building loomed ahead, smears of red and papyrus beige muddling to form slanted roofs and small spires.

 

Marinette remembered the onerori, “Maybe there’s people here, like in the underworld. Maybe...spirits...illusions...creatures... _ whatever. _ ”

 

She walked on, grass tickling her exposed ankles, stinging like playful nips to the skin. The sky laid like a sheet of glass above her, eerily perfect, no bubbles of cloud or change in color sullying the natural beauty.

 

Marinette swallowed hard, the small village gettin closer and closer. The thick, rich aroma of pungent eel, trout, mackerel, all kinds of seafood, permeated the wind.    
  


“I must be by the ocean,” Marinette denoted, blanching a bit at the mildly rancid medley of seafood smell. (She’d never been much of a fan of fish or other ocean-bound creepy crawlies for her dinner.), “That or these people really like their fish.”

 

Marinette yanked up her kimonos dragging lapels of silk and trudged on, thick clay mud sticking to her wooden shoes.

 

The village came up quickly, only taking Marinette a short walk to reach the gates. No guards protected the gate to the village, so Marinette steeled her will and pushed the doors open, walking inside.

 

The village was filled with beautiful foliage, cherry blossom trees and tiger-colored bush flowers. Marinette gaped at the gentle serenity of the small town. Nobody was outside. The wind didn’t howl. Pure silence seemed to stifle the town in a layer of peace.

 

“Hello?” Marinette asked, cupping her hands around her mouth to make the sound travel further, “Is anyone here?”

 

No answer.

 

“Um,” Marinette said softly, to herself, “Voice? Are you there?”

 

The voice was not there. 

 

“Nobody is here,” Marinette scoffed, confused, “But this story...it’s the White Butterfly...I know that. Where’s the old man? Where’s the butterfly?”

 

“Ah, vistor!” 

 

Marinette turned to face a woman with a compassionate face and warm colored skin.

 

“Oh, thank you,” Marinette said, “Could you tell me where I am? Or better yet, do you know someone named-”

 

“You eat with us,” The village woman said, grey eyes warm with generosity.

 

“I...what-?”

 

“You eat with us,” The woman repeated.

 

Before Marinette could argue, that,  _ no _ , she had a very important job to do, she was being bustled into the woman’s paper house, practically shoved into the small living room (the only room, apparently.) A small, empty wooden table sat in the middle of the room, bamboo mats and a small bed made of soft piles of fabric and wood stalks.

 

“Uhm-” Marinette babbled dumbly, “This is nice and all, but I really must-”

 

“A visitor!” The woman cried, but her voice felt different to Marinette’s ears. A man shuffled out from the back of the room -  _ how did I not see him before _ \- and his face seemed familiar, just like the woman’s, but Marinette couldn’t put a name to it.

 

“Vistor,” The man said, “My wife cook for us both.”

 

“Oh, no, there’s no need-” marinette looked at the table, which was filled with plates and bowls of food, along with appropriate chopsticks, “How-”  _ that table was empty before...I’m sure of it.  _

 

“We eat.” The man said, smiling at his wife with easy-going laziness.

 

“Seriously,” Marinette held up her hands, kimono sleeves slipping down to cover her sweaty skin, “I’m not-”

 

“ _ Food, _ ” The village woman said, tapping at the cold stone bowls and nodding her head.

 

Marinette bit her cheek and inwardly grimaced. Lying before her was a practically royal array of food on the table. A bowl of steaming grainy rice peppered with salt and garlic, another bowl of ruddy sweet potatoes mixed with aubergines and red beans, a cup of fish broth, a plate of waxy loquats and raspberries, an assortment of pine nuts and thick slabs of cooked pheasant drizzled with a spicy red-tyrion paste. It looked divine, especially to Marinette’s hungry stomach-

 

But the smell of rotten fish stuck to Marinette’s mouth, “I’m not...hungry.” she said weakly.

 

“ _ Food, _ ” the woman’s husband said strictly, his voice low. His laziness was replaced with sudden tensity in his shoulders.

 

Marinette could see bones poking out of the pheasant, blood seeping out of the dusty, tattered feathers. Maggots writhed in the bowl of vegetables. A dead fish with glass eyes poked out of the cup of broth, each scale dripping with mushy slime. She blinked, and the food was back to normal.

 

_ What is wrong with this place?  _ “I’m really not hungry-” Marinette began, muscles tensed to dash out the door.

 

“ _ Taberu!” _ the woman and the man both roared, striking the table. Broth spilled out of the cup and coated Marinette’s idle fingers. She looked at them, and screamed. The broth had become fish’s blood, rotten and liquid, “ _ Taberu!” _

 

_ Just eat,  _ Marinette thought, the bloody broth running down her wrists. She took a stuttering breath and grabbed her chopsticks, wood grain rubbing her skin awkwardly.

 

The woman and the man lost their rage, a tranquil expression coming over both of their faces, wrinkles faded to smooth smiles. But the man raised an eyebrow.

 

“ _ Itadakimasu, _ ” Marinette responded, the word popping into her mouth like a seed pod, spreading syllable pollen through her throat and lungs.

 

“ _ Itadakimasu, _ ” The woman and man said in tandem, all the tension leaving their shoulders as they stooped down to eat as well. The woman labeled dark mushroom colored broth into a bowl of pale carrot-like stalks and ate silently. The man merely watched Marinette, black eyes devoid of emotion.

 

_ Something is really wrong here,  _ Marinette thought, as she brought a clump of rice to her mouth, chewing carefully,  _ this isn’t how the story goes. Not at all. _ The rice stuck to her tongue, rotten and sour, but she forced it down, stomach gurgling in protest. 

 

The rest of the meal went in palpable silence, the humid breeze strengthening the raw scent of the food, the sweet perfume of the paper walls making Marinette sniffle, her nose already red and raw from the intense spice of her offered dinner. She wiped her mouth carefully, her skin appearing a sallow yellow under the dirty sunlight that streamed into the house, and bent her head down.

 

“ _ Gochisou-sama _ ,” Marinette said, the word not pollinating in her mind like the last but dripping into her memory like a leaky faucet.

 

The man and woman nodded. Marinette brought herself to her feet and bowed swishingly, her silken kimono waving out behind her and turned without looking back, exiting the house with a huge breath of relief.

 

Outside of the oppressive heat of the house, the village seemed unusually silent for a bright Summer afternoon. People weren’t outside, instead cooped up like birds in their nests, their wings clipped by some outside force-

 

_ Their wings clipped by some outside force, _ Marinette thought again, standing still, _ that seems...too good of a metaphor. Is that...true?  _ She looked around, throat tight,  _ did someone change this story? Change these people? _

 

Marinette looked around. There was nobody outside again. Silence fell again with an oppressive aura. The food in Marinette’s stomach felt heavy as bricks.

 

_ Is the old man even still alive? He died in the end, _ Marinette felt revulsion trickle through her stomach, sour like lime juice,  _ is this what happened after the story ended? Oh, Adrien, I wish you could just explain... _

 

_ Swoosh. _

 

Marinette looked behind her. Nobody. 

 

“Is anyone there?” She asked.

 

_ Swoosh. _

 

Again, movement flashed past her eyes. Someone darted past her, then skidded to a stop. Marinette whipped around, the moment seeming to be doused in a liquor of slow-motion, everything flowing through a sticky jelly of temporalism.

 

“Luka?” Marinette chirped. Before her, was clearly Luka, or an excellent doppelganger, dressed in age-appropriate clothes. 

 

Luka held a finger to his mouth as if to shush Marinette and gestured for her to follow him.

 

“Where are you going?” Marinette asked.

 

_ Follow me if you want to live.  _ Luka mouthed urgently.

 

Marinette swallowed her nerves and nodded. Luka or pale imitation...she trusted him in all incantations. She steeled her will and hardly hesitated before following as Luka sped off again. They ran quickly, going past trees and houses before Luka grabbed her wrist and jerked her wildly into a house.

 

Marinette yelped as she hit the wooden floor with a  _ thump _ . Luka pulled her off the ground.

 

“Are you okay?” He asked, “You hit the ground very hard.”

 

“Yes, I’m-” Marinette looked at him, “You’re Luka?”

 

“They call me the apothecary,” Luka said, “or the man of opium plants, if the people of the village are unhappy with me-” he smiled and Marinette knew that it was Luka in an instant, “which they most often are.”

 

“Why did you drag me to your house?” Marinette asked, “And why did you tell me not to talk?”

 

“Speaking is bad, when they can hear you,” Luka explained, “It’s better to be silent until you are sure you are safe. Or else he will snap you up into his gullet.”

 

“Who’s this  _ he? _ ” Marinette asked. Luka shivered.

 

“He is the dark man, the evil king,” Luka explained, “He is vile and cruel...and lonely. He came to this village long ago.”

 

_ So, the story has changed,  _ Marinette hummed, “Who is he?”

 

“I dare not speak his name. He is a demon to rival all demons-” Luka said, “But still, I pity him.”

 

“You pity him?” Marinette said, “Is he the reason everything is-” she gestured out widely, “Is like this?”

 

Luka sat down on a sheet of bamboo, telling Marinette to do the same. He took a vial of pale powder and dumped it into a bronze bowl of fire on the table and smoke drifted around lazily, making Marinette’s head spin and feel like cotton.

 

“What’s this?” She asked, covering her nose with a hand.

 

“Do not be afraid,” Luka said, soft and sweet, “This is necessary for me to explain. I have not the words to spin a story.”

 

_ It’s Luka. And this is a dream...I don’t think I can really be hurt,  _ Marinette gulped, letting her hand move,  _ I hope. _

 

“Let the smoke enter your body, your mind, your  _ soul _ . Take my medicine and let the experience unfold.” Luka sounded bitter as he added, “Once I would have played my music to spin my yarns, but the sound of music is scorned here.”

 

Marinette let herself melt into the dreamy trance of the opium smoke, “Tell me everything,” she said, “No jokes, no riddles, no illusions.”

 

Luka laughed, “No worries, I am very good at telling the truth.” he added another powder to the fire and more smoke arose, drawing sandalwood and patchouli perfume across the room, “Prepare yourself, for this this...is not a happy story.”

 

Marinette nodded and let herself fall into the trance, slowly, slowly, then all at once.

 

✭⚜✭

 

_ The village laid serene across the hillside, gentle rays of sunlight setting the grass alight with golden fire. The roads were busy with commotion, people scrabbling around like frenzied ants, laughing, trading, talking. _

 

_ Luka sat above the town on a papyrus perch, legs dangling off the sheer side of his house. He was smoking, long spirals of bluish smoke drifting past his nose to smear the sky. He took a long puff, then breathed out, watching people pass by. _

 

_ “Konnichiwa, ohayo,” Luka puffed down to a woman, “Where are you going?” _

 

_ “I am going to Eidorian’s house, _ _ ” The woman responded morosely, her eyes watery with grief, “He is very sick. He says he wants to eimin suru. To never wake…” _

 

_ “I didn’t know he was ill,” Luka lamented, “May I come with you to pay my respects?” _

 

_ The woman nodded. Luka slipped down from his ledge with the ease of a river dripping down rocks, liquid in his movements, smooth like a snake. He fell into her stride and they walked together. _

 

_ “Is there anything I can do?” Luka asked, fingers brushing his satchel of herbs, the balsamic wafts of medicine tickling his nose, “I have nomigurusi and nuri gusuri.” he patted his bags of nostrum powders and creams meaningfully. _

 

_ “Iie kekkou desu,” The woman reassured, patting Luka on the shoulder, “You are very kind for offering, though.” _

 

_ The opiate of the dream misted away into vapor, swirling, spinning into a new scene, bubbling at the edges of Marinette’s intoxicated thoughts. Myriads of hallucinatory tincture burst into sight and Marinette head spun- _

 

✭⚜✭

 

“Focus,” Luka’s voice was underwater, his bluebell dipped hair pale as dry seaweed, “You’re letting yourself bumble through the dream. You must let it flow, let the sensation swell through you,” he breathed out slow and methodical, “Let the experience be enjoyed - not  _ forced.” _

 

“You’re just like the real Luka,” Marinette said.

 

“Who says I am not?” Luka murmured, “Is a dream not real to you?”

 

Marinette was silent. The smoke returned and drifted her away like a leaf from an Autumn branch. Falling, falling…

 

✭⚜✭

 

_ In a paper house that was dark and dim, Luka and the woman leaned over a bed made of bamboo. Fireflies of lantern light danced through the room and the slim silver crescent of a waning moon glittered through the open windows. _

 

_ “How are you, Eidorian,” the woman chided, waving palms of thin foliage bound with wheat colored string around the room as if to shoo away some invisible creature, “I’ve brought a guest to see you.” _

 

_ The man was shrouded from view, just pinched out of Marinette’s fish-eyed peripheral. She strained to view him, but the dream collapsed before him, leaving her without a body to the voice that suddenly creaked to life. _

 

_ “Please, kiete inaku naritai,” The man said, his tone old and weary of life, a balmy Japanese wind casting through the paper house to ruffle it’s edges, “Why are you here?” _

 

_ Rich, glacé mist dripped from the verbena hung in the corners of the house, small gemstones of fruit bauble hanging above the man’s shadowed head. Marinette swept her phantom spirit through the scene, enraptured. _

 

_ Luka piped up, his hair dimmed in color by the bright blue blossoms by the bed, which shone like celestial metal, “We have come to pay our respect to you, grandfather.” _

 

_ The man let out a rattle of a wheeze, “Well…” _

 

_ A creaking came from the helm of the house, the wooden shackle of the door clicking wide open. The invader crept in with a commanding presence, his back ramrod straight. _

 

_ “Watashi no musuko,” The invader, (a late aged man, but not elderly-), “My apologies for coming so late-” _

 

_ The old dying man flew into a fit, “Akuma!” he spat, lunging up from the bed. He had silver dust for hair, narrowed, pudgy, lupus rich eyes, “Akuma!” _

 

_ The other man sighed, “Must we do this, son?” _

 

_ The old man shook, tears bright at his eyes, “I am not your son. Why now of all times do you want me to call you Otōsan?” _

 

_ “I have something for you, musuko,” The man braved on, “A gift. Would you desire to see your wife?” _

 

_ “More than anything…” The old man breathed, “Watashi no tsuma?” _

 

_ “She is near,” the man nodded as she spoke. He took his old, soap-colored hands and lifted the shroud of death from his son. Luka and the woman joined him, taking the man in their hands and lifting him to meet the ground. _

 

_ The old man’s bones made a tremendous creaking as they led him out of the house. The walk to the graveyard was silent, a thin, gauzy rain beginning to fall swift and cold as ice down across the dry grass. Grass became soil, dark soil became rocks and soon they were at the wilted palace of death. _

 

_ The old man rocked with energy, his eyes alight with love as the three led him down to the gravestone he jabbed at with his finger in the air. _

 

_ “Watashi no aisuru hito, watashi no ai!” The old man cried, sliding down onto his skinny limbs to the marshy rock pond of the grave, fingers clasping the clay-rot of the stone with vigor.  _ __  
  


_ Like magic, a small white butterfly danced above the grave, criss-crossing into existence. The man sobbed openly, Luka watching with wide eyes as the man held out his fatigued hands for the butterfly to grace. _

 

_ The butterfly twinkled down, wings catching the stars and reflecting constellations.  _

 

_ “Oh my dear, watashi ha itsumademo anata no mono desu... The man wept, looking back at his supposed father,“Arigatōgozaimashita, Arigatōgozaimashita-”  _

 

_ The father was touching the butt _ _ erfly. _

 

_ “No,” the old man said, “Please, don’t-“  _

 

_ Before Luka could breathe out another breath, the wings of the butterfly wife were snatched up and crushed into smoke. The old man let out a shriek as if his throat was cut and slumped to the ground entirely, supine and sobbing with horror. _

 

_ Luka jumped to attention, the woman at his heels, “Yameru!” he yowled. _

 

_ The man let out a snort and brushed his hands clean of the butterfly’s clear jelly of blood, “It was necessary. From your love, I bring back my love.” _

 

_ The old man’s eyes had gone to glass, his skin water-logged by the gentle mist of rain. _

 

_ Luka looked on with disgust, unable to move as the man clenched his hand again. Wings beat through his fingers, dark-purple oil wings, roasted eggplant in color, dark as a Winter dusk. Luka watched a new butterfly broke free. _

 

_ “My love, ima, anata wa shinimasu.” the man said and- _

 

✭⚜✭

 

“That’s all?” Marinette said, “It just ends-”

 

“That is all I remember. I ran,” Luka hung his head, “I ran like a coward from the fearsome man.”

 

“You’re not a coward,” Marinette said, “You shouldn’t have to be a hero. You’re just...you.”

 

Luka grinned morosely, “ _ Arigatōgozaimashita. _ ”

 

“Words and words, and I don’t understand any of them-” Marinette huffed, “What do I do know, Luka?”

 

“Maybe you should stop asking us-” Luka said, “And start asking yourself.”

 

“Does he have a grave?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“And the butterfly, what happened-”

 

“She was smashed into dust-” Luka said, too fast, muscles tight in his face.

 

“What really happened to her?”

 

“You must go.”

 

_ The White Butterfly was his wife,  _ “She was his wife, wasn’t she-”  _ I’m the butterfly, I’m Adrien’s wife in this story.  _ Once that would have made her blush and smile, but now it just made her somber, weak, “What happened to the butterfly?”

 

“Nothing!” Luka yelled, “You must go now-”

 

“Don’t be a coward,” Marinette snapped.

 

“Go!” Luka barked, ushering Marinette to the door. Opium smoke followed her out, turning the world clay-red for a breath before she hacked out the vapor and wheezing for breath.

 

Marinette stumbled away from Luka’s house, looking around wildly.

 

_ What scared him so bad? _ She thought.

  
  
  


Marinette looked at the paper house’s walls.

 

And her heart stopped.

 

_ That.  _ She thought,  _ that is what scared him. The truth about this damned story. _

 

Each house had a black butterfly painted on one of the outside walls. 

 

Every single house. 

 

Her head felt heavy with guilt, her heart aching furiously. She turned. Another butterfly. Some were newly painted, dripping like tar down the sides of the houses. Across the road, someone was painting one at that moment.

 

“Oh my god,” Marinette stepped back, “Akumas…they’re  _ akumas… _ ”

 

“Where I the old man’s grave?” She screamed to Luka, who had followed Marinette out, seeming aplogetic, but still terrified. He clutched his head and shook, “Tell me Luka-”

 

“I know not!” Luka yelled, “My name is not Luka, my name is Silencer, as it has always been and always will be-”

 

“Liar!” Marinette barked, “Your name is Luka-” was that a glimmer of purification in his eyes? ( _ Bye, bye butterfly,  _ Marinette recalled saying with a jolt, remembered white wings and gentle wings-), “Tell me where he is.”

 

“Past the hill, under the cherry blossom of the graveyard with a cream ribbon -  _ aurgh! _ ” Luka thrashed with agony, “Run! Go-” he kneeled over, frothing, eyes bloodshot.

 

_ I’m sorry, Luka, _ Marinette thought and she ran as fast as she could, flying to the graveyard as fast as a monarch.

✭⚜✭

 

“Adrien!” Marinette called, lungs burning as she dashed to the graveyard, “Adrien, I know you’re here-”

 

_ There! _ Below the cherry blossom, laid across the slate of the headstone, a familiar muss of vanilla blonde hair-

 

“Adrien!” Marinette shrieked, dropping to meet him on the ground.

 

No noise. But Adrien lifted himself from the ground, dressed in mandarin colored robes, skin dull and dry as sand.

 

Marinette tore him into a hug, not minding the cloying smell of Death, rotten meat and sour, fermented fruit on him, “You’re alive-”

 

Adrien let out a wheeze, pushing back from Marinette with trembling hands. He pointed to his mouth and drew down like a knife on his lips.

 

“You - you can’t speak,” Marinette realized quickly, the ghastly Adrien nodding. He looked worse than then Hades, who was merely the King of Death, this Adrien was just  _ Death _ , sullied and moldy, left to decompose.

 

_ Give your prince a voice,  _ Marinette’s continuous, the Voice called softly, almost giggling,  _ reach into your heart and give him the words. _

 

It came as easy as breathing. Marinette hardly thought as Adrien gazed up at her with crusty, half-closed eyes and raw, bloody breath. She reached into her bosom, fingers light as she touched her own essence and drew out a long strand of ethereal matter. She touched Adrien’s throat, revenant and gentle and he breathed in deep-

 

“My...voice,” Adrien said.

 

Marinette smiled.

 

“I swore never to speak again.” he touched below his jaw, working the vocal cords there with great ease and care, “When my princess was turned into darkness, it was my words that slew her...who are you?”

 

_ I’m your princess, apparently _ , Marinette thought, realizing that her own voice was gone. (An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, voice for a voice.) She settled for taking Adrien’s hand and kissing it, lifting her head to smile at him and to mouth:  _ hello, minou. _

 

Adrien jolted back as if he’d seen a ghost, his eyes finally open and unmarred by exhaustion. (Marinette supposed, that in a way, he  _ had  _ seen a ghost. His Marinette was dead...or worse than dead if the story of Luka had been true.)

 

“No!” Adrien gasped, “You’re gone - you’re-” he grabbed his head, shivering as if he had caught a violent chill, his skin going eggshell pale, “He killed what was left of you.”

 

_ What was left of me? _ Marinette clasped her hands together, feeling apprehensive,  _ what happened to me, Adrien? Was Luka telling the truth? Was I truly that butterfly? _

 

Adrien understood, without words, “We were to be married.”

 

Marinette felt her heart swell with hope, only to have her dreams crushed into red-bean paste.

 

“We didn’t-” Adrien said, clearing up the fog of marital bliss, “You  _ died _ , my love. The day before the wedding, you fell ill with a disease that none had seen before. I brought you to the greatest physician, but it was too late. You were blue as the creek, cold as the Winter wind...I couldn’t-”

 

_ It’s okay, _ Marinette thought,  _ always trying to save me. Poor minou. Look at yourself, _ Adrien was thin as a stalk of snake grass, his skin baggy on his bones,  _ why did you always give so much to save me? _

 

“Because I loved you-” Adrien answered in a strange sort of way, because he was truly speaking of another matter, “I loved you so much, that your soul stayed. Not all of it-” he held up hands, which were calloused and mustard yellow with wear and tear, “Only a bit. I would have never allowed it if it deprives you of your peace.”

 

_ Please, think of yourself, _ Marinette felt her heart ache,  _ you’re a mess. _

 

Adrien scratched at his hair, which Marinette knew was infested with grubs, lice, wheat weevils, little pests, “You were my little butterfly. You stayed at the helm of your grave and danced their with your snow-white wings.”

 

✭⚜✭

 

“The akumas were not always so evil,” Master Fu said, “Once, they were the servants of god.” he stooped to sip his grey-green jasmine tea, “They had wings of white and intentions just as pure.”

 

“Well, what happened?” Marinette pried. 

 

“All things in this world can be corrupted. Pollution can turn even the clearest stream into rotten sludge,” Master Fu explained, “Water can dilute many solutions.”

 

“And-?”

 

“Gabriel has much hate in his heart: Hate for what the world has done to him, hate for others, hate for the fact that his wife is gone.” Master Fu said, “That hatred burned his akumas into charred replicas. Into black-wings and evil intentions.”

 

“And I’m not supposed to hate him, why?” Marinette leaned into Master Fu’s face, on her knees, “He practically tortured us. Day after day of fighting his damn akumas, sleepless nights, all because he was an asshole?”

 

“He was not just an asshole,” Master Fu said, “He was a lonely, broken man. He was tired. Weary of this world. It was not just his hate that mutated the akumas...but his grief and despair as well.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he tried to destroy Paris multiple times.” Marinette grumbled.

 

“Ah, what we will do for love,” Master Fu said, nostalgic and somber, tea cup poised to his lips, “You should understand, Marinette.”

 

“I am nothing -” the table shook as she pushed herself up on it, “ _ nothing _ like that asshole!” Marinette shrieked.

 

“Like I said,” Master Fu drank, then sighed, “You should understand.”

 

Marinette glared at the man, rose to her feet and spun out of his house, anger burning in her so hotly that her cheeks turned the color of ripe cherries and when she bumped into a person as she ran home she screeched at them in fury.

 

But no matter how hard she ran, the fact burned itself into her brain:  _ You’re just like him. _

 

✭⚜✭

 

“But one day, I grew old and weak,” Adrien said. Marinette cocked her head, changed her view,  _ blinked _ and suddenly Adrien was short and wiry, wrinkled, an old man, “And I no longer could bring myself to your grave. Please, you must understand...I had no energy in my bones-”

 

_ You don’t have to apologize,  _ Marinette grabbed on tight to her kimono.

 

“I was dying,” Adrien said, “I was happy - in a way. It meant that I would see you-” he was lost in memory, “But then my father came-” anger distorted his speckled features, “And he stood over me in death, somehow young. He had made deals with  _ yokai _ -”

 

_ Spirits. _ Marinette understand at once,  _ I bet one of them was Nooroo. _

 

“He made a deal with a  _ yokai _ of good, a butterfly spirit,” Adrien spat, shaking, “And he forced that poor spirit to do his bidding. Eternal life, magic, power, wealth -”

 

Marinette waited with bated breath. The townspeople were coming, ever-so-slowly, groaning and screeching.

 

“But it wasn’t enough,” Adrien said, “He had to have everything. I was never-” his voice broke, “I was never enough for him, you know. I still loved him, despite that,” he gritted his teeth, “But what he did next, oh, how I wish the fury of Hell rains down on him!”

 

“He took me to see you, my dying wish-” Adrien was ranting and raving, shaking his stick-thin arms, “And I couldn’t stop him - I am so sorry, my love-”

 

_ It’s not your fault,  _ Marinette tried to yell, digging her wooden sandals into the oily hillside, slipping through the black mud and dropping to her knees. The ground seemed to be melting away, grass fading under her fingers as she grabbed hold of the world below her. The townspeople were coming closer, closer, smelling like rancid seafood and blood, but she held on to the memory of Adrien, soaking in his sweetness like she was bathing in the sunlight.

 

“I let you vanish,” Adrien said, the bones of his cheeks showing, eyes wide, “my father took you and grabbed your delicate wings of gossamer-” Adrien clenched his hand, then let it fall open, white petals falling free into the wind, “He crushed your soul, my  _ memory  _ of your love, into  _ darkness! _ ”

 

_ He made me an akuma, _ Marinette said, remembering the indigo ink on the doors of the houses, the sloppy shapes of butterflies with torn wings,  _ oh, Adrien, I’m so sorry. _

 

“And now there is nothing I can do,” Adrien said, his hair so pale in the sunlight that it seemed to fade into nothing-

 

_ No! _ Marinette howled desperately,  _ no, you can’t disappear, I don’t have part of you yet- _

 

“It’s time for me to go,” Adrien said, “Once, I thought I would greet Death as a friend, for he would take me to you.” he smiled sadly, his sapphire eyes already pale as lilac buds, “But now...you are gone.”

 

_ I’m not gone, _ Marinette begged, scrabbling at the fading ground,  _ I’m right here. I’ll save you, I’ll save you, why would you never let me save you, Adrien? _

 

“The girl!” The townspeople screeched.

 

“A gift.” Adrien said, “A gift for my love.” he knelt down, almost transparent and dropped something in Marinette's hands, closing them around it, “No peeking, okay?”

 

_ Don’t do this. _ Marinette scrabbled for Adrien, but he was already gone, his smile fading like mist in the morning as Nino dragged her down the hill, “The demon! The akuma!”

 

_ Let me go! _ Marinette screamed, but no words left her mouth. Nino yanked at her, Alya grabbing too, then Luka was there pulling too and they all had masks of purple on ( _ Hawkmoth’s mask- _ ), masks so dark purple that she couldn’t see their eyes.

 

Chloe and Kagami ripped at her clothes, drawing her kimono into shreds that melted like cotton candy in warm water. Marinette felt her brain go to jelly as she trashed and fought, begin without words:  _ Adrien, come back, please! _

 

“He will not save you anymore-” Chloe said, her breath bitter and stale by Marinette’s face as she rolled and clawed at the townspeople. Their empty faces burned into new ones, old villains:  _ Lady Wifi, The Bubbler, Stormy Weather, Riposte- _

 

_ Silencer _ pulled so hard on her arm that it snapped off, like a doll’s limb out of a socket and  _ Stoneheart  _ tore her legs off with one great swipe of his rocky fingers.

There was no pain, no howl, no blood. Marinette tossed and turned from akuma to akuma, each one taking a part of her, her ears, her nose, her eyes, heart-

 

_ I’ve done all I can, _ Marinette thought,  _ take me home. _

 

_ As you wish. _

 

The sky turned black, Marinette closed her eyes and the world fell back into place, each line and curve falling into perfect symmetry. Colors sparkled, then died like cheap fireworks, pain flared through her bones like liquid fire and then-

 

“Holy shit,” Alya said, looming over Marinette.

 

“I think I’m back in Kansas, Toto,” Marinette babbled, then passed out.

 

✭⚜✭

 

When Marinette woke up ( _forty-five_ _seconds later_ , a blip in time-) she was propped up by Master Fu’s chair, her head lolling off the side of the armrest. 

 

“How long this time?” Marinette asked.

 

“Only thirty minutes,” Nino said, passing Marinette a water bottle. She took greedy sips of it, water dripping down her face. But nothing could wash away the memory of maggot thick meat writhing in her mouth. She shuddered at the thought of pickled and fermented vegetables, decomposing flanks of pheasant, weevil dotted bowls of grain rice, “You did better, I think-”

 

“No. I didn’t,” Marinette said, “I didn't win.” she opened her hands and felt tears burn at her eyes when she saw a small silk butterfly lying there, perfect origami. 

 

“I didn’t know you could...win,” Nino said, “Is it like...a video game?”

 

“No,” Marinette shook her head, taking a few more glups of her water before wiping her dry mouth and speaking, “It’s more like a story.” she grimaced. Water was the same consistency as cold blood in her mouth, “Fairytales and myths.”

 

“I didn’t know Adrien was a fan of those type of stories,” Nino said quietly.

 

“He always liked stories,” Chloe chimed in, face turned away, “Reminded him of his mom.”

 

Marinette stood up, and passed to butterfly to Nino, “Give that to Adrien too. It’s his sorrow.”

 

“His sorrow?” Chloe looked at the gentle silken wings, “Do we really want to give that back to him? He’s already had so much.”

 

“It’s a part of him,” Marinette said, “No matter how much we wish it wasn’t.”

 

“You’re going back,” Alya said, “Don’t you want to rest?”

 

“I want Adrien back,” Marinette said. She sat down, all of the miraculouses still laid out perfectly. She looked at her friends and let her mind wash away, into another layered mirage of dreams...the world burned away and the fantasy revealed itself.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those not fluent in Google Translate Japanese, here's a little cheat sheet.
> 
> taberu...means eat.  
> itadakimasu means "something you say before eating." not sure what it translates to directly.  
> gochi-sama means "something you say after eating." not sure what it translates to directly.  
> konnichiwa means hello.  
> ohayo means good morning  
> eimin suru means "vanish forever" or something like that.  
> nomigurusi and nuri gusuri mean different types of medicine.  
> iie kekkou desu means it is okay.  
> Eidorian is a bad translation of Adrian.  
> watashi no musuko means my son.  
> akuma means demon.  
> otosan means father.  
> watashi no tsuma means "where is my wife?" or close to that.  
> watashi no aisuru hito means my love.  
> watashi no ai means my love as well.  
> arigatōgozaimashita means thank you so much.  
> yameru means quit.  
> ima, anata wa shinimasu means something along the lines of "from your love, into my love." correct me if I'm terribly wrong.
> 
> (I am not fluent in Japanese. Forgive me for my probably many mistakes...)


End file.
